


Evil Author Day 2018

by valdemort



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Evil Author Day, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fill, Snippets, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, more tags in notes, wips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 08:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13700760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valdemort/pseuds/valdemort
Summary: Beginnings and pieces of some of the WIPs that I'd like to offer up to this year's Evil Author Day. Some of these will get finished, many of them I hope will, but no guarantees when or if any of them will. Each chapter will be a different fic, with chapter titles giving a rough idea what's going on. Most are single-fandom stories, some will be crossovers. Several of these were spawned by prompts on the AvengerKink meme.Stories that would be rated E later on won't be posted to that point yet, so this is probably a M to be safest. Enjoy!Fics are either Avengers, or HP/Dresden Files crossover





	1. Life Modeling for Fun &...Profit? (Loki/Steve)

**Author's Note:**

> All titles are working titles and may (will likely) be updated, since most of them are more descriptive than fancy. 
> 
> Many of these are only loosely self-beta'd, and will most likely be cleaned up more and/or heavily edited if and when they'd get posted in 'polished' form. So take that with a grain of salt. Conversely I do try and keep egregious spelling and grammar errors to a minimum. 
> 
> Re: warnings/tags - I'll try and include some of the obvious ones, but PLEASE let me know if there's any serious (potentially triggery/need to be flagged) ones I've missed and I'll be sure and update accordingly. Thanks! Not all of these are fluffy-bunny stories. In fact most of them probably won't be. 
> 
> Comments are love, and may help feed the muse. When commenting, please make it obvious which particular story it's applicable to. Thanks, and enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes to life drawing sessions for self-enjoyment, and while there some of the models tickle his brain as being _awfully familiar_... 
> 
> Loki gets bored and takes up modeling for a life drawing class for shits and giggles. After the first time, and seeing a certain Avenger there, he can't help but keep returning and messing with him in the process. It's all for amusement's sake, really. 
> 
> Loki/Steve
> 
> Not phase 2 onward compliant.   
> **Warnings for PTSD dreams/flashes (ice, etc). Implied naked peoples.**  
> No slash yet in story, though this one would eventually get there.

Steve glanced up from setting up his drawing easel and supplies to see who today’s model is. The models change, class to class - some are new, some he’s seen before - and while Steve was generally unbiased about body shape, he definitely preferred drawing certain models over others. Some strike better poses, some have more interesting angles to draw, some maintain position better on the longer poses.

He noted that tonight’s model is unfamiliar to him, someone new, he thought, smiling to himself. Variety is often nice, poses new challenges in his drawing. That’s precisely the reason he started coming to the open drawing nights at the community college across town - for a chance to draw something other than his fellow teammates or still life. He suspects some of his fellow students suspect who he is, but if they do they’re nice enough to leave him in relative anonymity. To them, he’s just “Steve”.

The model tonight is a relatively attractive, lithe female with paler skin, dark hair, and piercing green eyes. As she bends through various poses for 30-second quick draws, part of Steve’s brain that’s not focused on drawing itself is rather impressed on some of the more extreme, flexible poses she’s able to do. So, a challenge indeed, tonight - good, Steve muses to himself.

As the evening goes on, the poses get longer and therefore the drawings can get more detailed, and Steve finds himself immersed in his work. That’s what he loves the most about drawing, it’s a way to get the more analytical part of his brain to shut up, and just let the creative side flow. It’s relaxing and energizing at the same time.

Once when he was glancing up, during a drawing, he thought he saw the model wink at him - but it was so fleeting he wondered, did I imagine that?

Packing up for the night, he flipped through the evening’s drawings, reviewing them, looking at them, to self critique and see how he did - if he was on, that evening or not. However, his brain immediately picked out that in the majority of the drawings - and almost all of the drawings over a minute long - the model’s head and those green eyes were looking towards him. That, was very unusual for the 360 degree drawing setup they had in the classroom - models typically tried to rotate themselves around, to give the students a larger variety.

Steve looked up from his drawings, to the model who had finished packing up her things and was talking with the professor, before leaving for the night. Right as she finished talking to the teacher, she looked up and across the room, and Steve felt, directly at him. A small, complicated smile crossed her lips then she turned and walked out the door.

Steve set down his things and walked quickly out the classroom to see if he could meet with her, but by the time he got out the door she was already gone.

He couldn’t get that image of her - that smile (what did she mean by that smile?) and those almost-unearthly vibrant, green eyes - out of his head all week.

*****

Some neighborhood of New York needed saving that following week, so Steve missed drawing night. He was somewhat disappointed, but duty came first - it wasn’t the first one he’d missed, and it very likely wouldn’t be the last. The next week, though, there wasn’t a crisis so he was able to go.

He greeted the other regular students as he set up his drawing supplies in preparation for the evening. As per usual, he glanced up to see if he recognized tonight’s model - Steve didn’t recognize him, this one having more of a swimmer’s build, ginger curly hair, and very blue eyes. The model caught Steve looking at him, while he was rearranging the cushions and other props on the modeling stage to his liking, and he grinned, winking at Steve.

Steve blinked and quickly averted his gaze, unnerved by something in this man’s expression, for one not used to the models flirting with the students, himself included. He swore he hadn’t ever seen him before, Steve even quickly flipped through his quick-sketch book to double check, but something about him twigged his brain. One of the reasons he came here was that this class, this location, was so disproportionate to people's impression of who Captain America was, he didn't tend to get recognized, or at least people left him alone if they did, attributing it to coincidence.

Once the warm-up sketches started, Steve’s right brain took over and the niggling thoughts disappeared - there was only the drawing at hand. Time flew by, pages filled up, and soon the evening was coming to a close. Steve felt he had come to a good finishing point on the last drawing, the last pose for the night, a little early so he took the extra few minutes available to look through tonight’s sketches while waiting for the timer to run out.

Once again, the model was looking his direction much more than the other parts of the room.

And there was the smile - whole volumes could be written about that smile, the expressions on his face. In fact, that’s what Steve had even chosen to focus on in one of the drawings - a close up of the model, shoulders on up.

The niggling in his brain was back, and would not let go. Steve wouldn’t let it be tonight, not after the last class, so after the last pose was over and the model had finished getting dressed back into street clothes, Steve made sure and snag him before he ferreted for the evening.

“Thanks so much for coming,” Steve said to the model, shaking his hand. “I know you get paid for this, but we really do appreciate what all of you do for us, willing to spend your occasional late evening helping out us students.”

The model smiled in reply. "Oh, it's nothing - I enjoy it and it's a nice change of pace," he said, in a vaguely European accent.

Steve peered at him, "Have you modeled for this class before? Something about you seems vaguely familiar, but I can't seem to place it."

He shook his head, "Not for this class, no. Probably just a twin I didn't know I had or something," he smirked. "Hell, I could say the same about you, come to think of it."

Steve nodded, "That must be it, probably just remind each other of someone. Say, want to get coffee? I've wanted to talk to one of you about the whole modeling thing, and you seem a friendly fellow."

"I'm sorry I must decline this time, perhaps another." The model dipped his head, reminiscent of a slight bow. "As you said, it is late, and I must be off. Good evening, and hope your drawing was productive." With that, he turned, grabbed his bag, and left the room.

Steve stood there a moment, eyes half focused on the door where he had last seen him, lost in thought. He shook his head slightly and turned back to his chair, to continue packing up for the night. "Way to be rude and not exchange names, Rogers," he muttered to himself.

*****

One of the first things Loki did upon his arrival to Midgard was look into the Avenger troupe, see what they were up to. Most either he wasn’t too surprised about, or they had holed themselves up in the tower to the point where he couldn’t easily spy on them.

The man out of time, though - Steve Rogers - he was unique of the group, and actually regularly left the tower for reasons other than business or missions. Doing something quaint, too! Loki smirked and shook his head, still amused at the thought a war-hardened fighter, spending his evenings once a week going to life drawing class, of all things. Now that, Loki thought, was just too tempting to pass up.

Posing as several different people Loki contacted the school, and with a little mental nudging ensured he was on the modeling schedule sooner than the waiting list would otherwise allow. Loki chuckled, he was even getting paid for his time, too - a strange concept.

Loki hadn’t done this before, but between his conversations with the school staff, and some research on his own, managed to glean well enough what would be expected of him. The first week he took his most used female guise - something he was personally familiar enough with that little additional concentration on his part would be required. This turned out to be a good thing, as taking and maintaining poses was more energetically and mentally taxing than he had originally expected. Any attention he had remaining, he used to study his mark, Captain America.

Loki was used to others, males or sometimes even females, leering at his female form - this one in particular. However the looks he received from the drawing students was surprisingly anything but, which frankly shocked him. Sure, there were some expressions of appreciation - but those were more for appreciation of a well-made human form, and far less of any sexual nature. They viewed this body as a well-crafted visual specimen, almost like one would appreciate a well-made piece of artwork. The others, Rogers included, eyed him in a much more clinical nature, no different from analyzing a tree or bird to try and capture all the pertinent details in their artwork.

It was rather disconcerting, at first. Then Loki found himself actually starting to enjoy the experience.

He kept the stoic mask on, though, not letting his enjoyment show, so as to not break character. Once he was done for the night, he quickly changed, packed up, and left for the evening after exchanging a few necessary words with the professor. He quickly made his way home to his secured apartment, changed back to his own appearance, and spent the rest of the night analyzing his own feelings over what should have been a simple undercover spying mission.

The emotions and thoughts coursing through his body were confusing and unexpected, and he didn’t know what to make of it. First, there was the experience itself - the modeling. Surprisingly enjoyable, physically demanding at times in a manner reminiscent of a good workout, not to mention freeing to be viewed not as an object of lust, but far from it. For that alone he was interested in going back another time to model again.

Then there was the conundrum that was Rogers.

Steve was of the group that didn’t see the person on the platform at all, he was just another thing to draw. It was maddening, and Loki couldn’t understand what was going on, or rather wasn’t going on, in Steve’s brain. How could someone not look at Loki, when he looked like that? This was an even bigger reason to return, to figure out that puzzle, and Loki found himself wanting, no needing to find out that answer.

The next week Loki was there, and Steve wasn’t. Loki was disappointed, though for the sake of appearances he tried to not let it show. It just wasn’t the same, though, and he found that while the modeling was still okay, his heart wasn’t in it. Plus, even worse, Loki was bored. To pass the time, especially on the longer poses, Loki found himself scheming up 101 ways to torment the Avengers, just because he could.

Loki looked up Rogers’s whereabouts after that night’s session was over and found that he and the team was called away to deal with some extraterrestrial disaster. He swore that the next time Steve wasn’t going to be there at class, he would call in “sick” and con a substitute into taking his place. He even almost managed to convince himself that it was all in the name of recon and intel gathering, and that it wasn’t because he was getting involved. Nope, couldn’t be.

The third week Loki confirmed that yes, Steve was planning on attending, and tried out his more recently common form he took when wandering around New York on a daily basis, so as to not trip SHIELD’s security. He found himself really enjoying the evening, and luckily this particular persona let him show it, which was also freeing. He still couldn’t help but use the time to scrutinize and attempt to figure out Steve, though, who still while drawing wasn’t seeing Loki as a person at all, but rather just as another character study to draw.

Despite the couple hours’ time, though, Loki had to admit that he was no further in figuring Steve out than he was after that first night. Internally focused and disappointed at his lack of success he set himself to packing up when the evening was over, Loki was somewhat startled when Steve started talking to him, right next to him. He hid his shock in a pleasant smile as he talked to Steve, and pondered on just how genuinely nice he seemed - a quality he really hadn’t seen anywhere else and further puzzled him.

At the offer of coffee, Loki - still unsteady from the sudden conversation - quickly found himself declining by default. He didn’t know if he should be more surprised at the fact that Rogers had managed to approach him without his notice like that, Wow I must be unsettled for him to do that to me, Loki thought. Or if he should be stunned at the fact that the small part of his brain that was quicker on his feet was mentally kicking him for declining the offer.

Loki was happy to get out of there when he did, and hurried home to decompress and think over the events of the evening, to try and make some sense out of what was going on.

*****

Back at the tower, Steve sat curled up on the couch and looked over his drawings from the past couple weeks. He quickly glanced at those from the models earlier in the class, not slowing since they didn't twig his brain at all. However, when he got to the last two that niggling feeling returned so he slowed down to take a closer look. He flipped back and forth between them: the darker hair lady - serious in her expressions, concentrating on what she was doing, and the curly ginger haired man - perpetually a light smile or smirk or similar expression, eyes lit up, laughing at a joke only he could hear. Great contrast in coloring and apparent personalities, but under scrutiny he supposed they could be distant cousins of each other.

That realization still didn't settle the feeling that he was missing something, though, which bugged Steve - he didn't normally get that feeling. He flipped through their drawings a bit more but when nothing else came to mind he sighed, set the book aside, and headed off to bed. Maybe it would come to him, later, he hoped.

*****

Steve drifted, intangible images floating through his head. Fleeting thoughts lingered barely long enough to be recognized, then drifted away. Combinations of faces and memories, his subconscious trying to make sense of of the rush of events since he woke up from the ice. 

A scream, a smile, a child’s face, a Chitauri’s duplicated one. The smell of art paper, of Clint’s cooking, of burnt earth and buildings on fire. They continued to dance around in his head, moving to some strange tune he couldn’t quite hear, combining themselves in ways that wouldn’t have seemed possible in the waking world. 

The last impression he got as his dreams finally left him in peace was the most recent male model from class crying out as a Chitauri, riding him piggy-back style, whapped him on the head repeatedly.

*****

People watching, mused Steve. That's what Clint had called it. Something that Steve found he enjoyed, especially since he woke up from his multi-decade sleep. Something about it helped him feel less restless, more...settled. More connected to this current time and place. Watching those bustle around him helped him realize how little things had truly changed, where they really mattered.

Plus if he got overwhelmed by the modern, he could use it in combination with his artist's detachment and just observe. Staying on the side of everything, not feeling obligated to get directly involved; it was nice to have that kind of break, occasionally. Not feel like he had to be swept away by the frenetic pace that was modern New York.

It was peaceful, in a way - mesmerizing, even.

So it wasn't much of a surprise that he jumped when a vaguely familiar voice, directly behind him, say “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll have that drink now.”

Steve spun around to look up at the speaker, and saw that yes, indeed, it was the male model from the other night's class. He blinked a couple of times, an elusive thought flitting away...piggy-back rides, sad-pain. As his brain lurched back to the present, he gestured to the table. "Sure, have a seat. Why not, I did promise you a coffee, and this is as good of time as any – better, perhaps, than class. Oh, and before I forget again, I'm Steve," he said, as he held out his hand.

“Tom, and thank you,” his companion replied, shaking his hand. “I just happened to be in the area, passing by with no pressing need to be anywhere right away, and saw you sitting here. Figured I'd take you up on that offer from the other night.” 

The attentive waitress came and went, and as they were waiting Steve couldn't help himself from looking at his companion longer, his observation focusing more on his companion’s form, than his specific looks. 

As Steve continued to consider him, Tom's expression slowly changed from a pleasant smile to a bemused one. “What are you thinking there, I wonder?” he asked, as mischief sparkled slightly in his eyes - an expression somewhat out of place on his face - as if he could somehow read Steve's train of thought. “I find it interesting you’re looking at me like that, and we’re not even in the studio. Shall I strike a pose, for you? That will cost you, of course - though we can negotiate my normal rates.” 

“Hmm?” Steve murmured, blinking back into focus as all the illusive thoughts and pieces finally fell into place. He narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression turning sharp suddenly. “No posing will be necessary, Tom. Or... should I say Loki.”

Loki - still in his curly, ginger haired guise, leaned back in his chair and grinned. The sounds of the coffee shop and surrounding neighborhoods muffled and grew quieter as he made a subtle finger gesture in the air. “There, much better.” Taking a sip of his coffee he continued, “Very good, Captain Rodgers. I was wondering how long it would take you to deduce that. Apparently you’re not quite as dense as I had feared. So,” he said, holding one hand out in a placating gesture, “you’ve found me out. Now what?” 

Steve quirked an eyebrow at the spell, but otherwise didn’t seem concerned. He replied, “Hmph, I should be asking you that. Why shouldn’t I just apprehend you, here, right now?” 

Loki gave a cool smile in reply, “Why Steve, what ever happened to that good old-fashioned sense of hospitality? What have I done, to you?” At Steve’s snort in reply, he continued, “Since that incident with the portal and alien army you so handedly vanquished for me, of course. I mean really, I’ve been a right model citizen since my return. Even some of your other precious Avengers,” he sneered, “have been more of a social menace than I have. After all this, do you really think you and yours are in immediate danger, from me?” 

Steve pursed his lips, not thrilled with what he was hearing but unable to deny the truth of what Loki said. Trying a different tactic, he asked, “What are you playing at here? Modeling seems to be a little understated for you, isn’t it? As you’ve said, you’ve been a model citizen - which seems quite unlike your usual modus operandi.” 

Steepling his fingers, Loki peered at Steve as he considered his reply. He shrugged to himself, as if acquiescing to an inner debate. “Truly? I’m waiting for something, several somethings, actually, to come to fruition. And while I’m waiting, you and the others here, are a wonderful distraction. Modeling offers a wonderful opportunity to study people without them realizing, to look in a fixed direction for a long length of time, all without appearing inappropriate or rude. Plus, I found I actually enjoyed it surprisingly enough. ” 

Blinking, Steve asked, “You’re people watching? And why my art class, why me specifically?” 

“Now that’s an interesting turn of phrase - ‘people watching’. But yes, that does fit,” replied Loki. “I started observing all of your regular routes, all of you...Avengers, but chose you, during your studies, since it was the easiest way to witness any of you alone. Unlike the others who tended to either be a: more elusive, or b: more closely involved with the others of your little clique.” 

Loki peered at Steve intently, studying him. “‘The Man out of Time’, you’ve been called. You’ve never quite fit in or felt you belonged, have you? Plus your clumsy attempts to integrate yourself with the general populace intrigue me - why even bother? What do these people, so different from what you knew, even matter to you?” 

Steve gives Loki a small, sad smile and leans back slightly in his chair, arms crossed but otherwise relaxed. Ignoring the question, he replied quietly, “Neither have you, I would imagine. You’re just as much an enigma here as I am, if not more.” 

“Is there anywhere you feel at home?” He spread his hands out, indicating the random people walking by. “You’ve changed your appearance more times that I know, you play at being human like you want to fit in, but at the same time you’re scared to.” Steve studied Loki, as an idea obviously came to mind. Loki in return just stared at Steve, his normally well-composed social mask cracking a bit around the edges. 

As an aside Steve murmured, “Lord knows you wouldn’t be the first somewhat-but-never-truly-redeemed person in our little troupe.” Smirking to himself, he continued, “Heck, if I could get Barton to not attack you on sight, you’d fit right in with the rest of our insanities.” Making eye contact with Loki again, Steve asked, “Ever consider staying here, longer term? You obviously find something here interesting enough to have spent this much time here the past few months. They’d...we’d accept you. That is, if you’d be willing to be a less...adversely destructive presence. To work with us, instead of against us, and against Earth.”

Loki blinked at Steve slowly a couple of times, otherwise stone-frozen, cup raised in mid-sip. After a few long seconds he broke eye contact, carefully set down his cup, pushed away from the table, stood, and walked away. All without words, face in a carefully neutral expression. 

Steve continued to watch Loki’s departure, until he disappeared into the crowd. A slightly sad expression on his face, he calmly proceeded to finish his coffee and declined another from the waitress when she stopped by. As Beth bussed the table, she paused and looks back at Steve. “Did you get his number?” 

Steve looked up at her, startled. “No…” he replied, voice trailing up as if in a question, confused.

“Pity,” she finished, looking up towards the direction Loki last was visible. “You two would make a cute couple. For a few minutes there, you looked quite interested in each other, both of you.” 

Looking back, she proceeded to bus the table. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you that focused on someone.” She looked up at Steve with a wink, and continued, “Think your friends can help you track him down?” With that she finished gathering the dishes and left the table, continuing with her work. 

Steve sat there at the table, looking off in the direction he’d last seen Loki and pondered what Beth had said to him. Sighing, he finally gathered up his sketch pad and left to head back to the tower, acknowledging he wasn’t going to solve this puzzle right away. 

*****

Loki’s body thrashed in bed, asleep, while his mind was equally caught up in turmoil. Odin’s mind-healers had helped him purge the last of Thanos’ mental barbs and coercion while he was imprisoned in Asgard, but that still couldn’t stop the memories, not completely. 

He had done what he needed to at the time, to survive, and had maneuvered the Avengers into being his tool against Thanos and the Other, all while playing at being fully their puppet. 

While one of his better tricks, in no way did he ever want to do that again. His psyche, magic, and self control were still scarred and under repair, even this long after those events and all the work of the healers. 

Being a mage and adept dream-walker, Loki’s mental projection found himself scattered from his own dream-scape, and flung adrift into the earthly astral plane. It wandered, feelers sent out, looking for any sort of familiar tether, something he could use to anchor and stabilize himself during the awful nightmares and turmoil. 

When he found some mental footing, he found himself in the cold, in a world of ice. He was in the cold, but wasn’t cold - his body had quickly betrayed his typical self-image, compensating for the surroundings and shifted to his other form - thick blue skin with raised lines, and red eyes. Unconsciously he knew if he was going to get his full magic strength back he would have to accept this new facet of his identity, but at least part of him was still resisting. 

Mental skin-crawling set aside for now, he took better stock of his surroundings. This was not a place he was familiar with - this wasn’t Jotunheim after all, like he had initially suspected. This wasn’t somewhere from his own memories - therefore he must be in someone else’s dream. Drawn to them by the sense of stability, sense of familiarity through the ice and cold. 

He mentally cursed his Jotun self, before he could stop himself. 

Sighing, he resolved to put that aside for now and actually figure out what was going on. If nothing else this was better than the turmoil nightmare-memories he was trapped in earlier. Paying closer attention to what was going on now, he looked around as he walked forward on the ice. He was in a small enclosed area, ice walls all around. Dark, except for the heat-less glowing light he had instinctively conjured up, to see by. 

Encased in the ice wall in front of him, was a someone he knew. Their eyes were wide open in horror, mouth opened in a silent scream, hands reaching in front of them as if reaching for something or trying to keep something away. Even though they were dressed differently than he had seen before (older style, less high-tech materials), he knew right away who it was, and whose nightmare he had found himself in. 

Steve Rogers, Captain America, in full regalia. 

Loki slowly stepped forward with his hand outstretched, mesmerized by the tableau, until his hand touched the wall next to Steve’s. The ice shattered, releasing a torrent of icy sea-water that barreled a semi-conscious Captain America into Loki, sweeping him off his feet. 

The water quickly filled up the ice cave, the two of them tumbling around in the swift turbulent water that erased such concepts as gravity, “down”, “up”, and air. Steve, now fully conscious and in his panic grabbed onto Loki (not coherent enough to know who he was clinging to, only that it was something to cling to) in some attempt at stability and saving himself from drowning. 

Loki now had both his own dwindling air supply (yes, it was a dream, but the dreamer’s creation’s rules still applied - in this case those of a Steve Rodgers who apparently hadn’t figured out lucid dreaming yet) to worry about and a panicked Steve clinging onto him, hampering his movements. 

Loki mentally sighed and took a moment to look around and get his bearings. There - there was a faint brighter area and opposite it was a slight pull of gravity. Well, even if Steve wasn’t lucid enough to affect his own dream, there were still a few things Loki could do. He grabbed Steve’s hand, and with the other sent a cascade of ice shooting towards “down”, propelling them upward towards the light. They quickly reached the cavern roof, which Loki easily created a tunnel through, ending in daylight and air. 

Loki dragged Steve upwards on the ice-wave, and once up outside Steve dropped to his knees, clutching at the ground while horrible, wracking coughs purged the water from his body. Loki - not turning his back on Captain America - backed up just out of immediate reach, calmly dried himself with a gesture while morphing back into his more usual coloring, and waited. 

Once the coughing has subsided enough so that Loki could be heard, he stated, “Somehow I don’t think this is quite how the rescue happened.” Steve looked up at him, his confused expression broken by more expelling of water. Loki sighed and rolled his eyes, stating the, to him, obvious. “You do realize you’re dreaming, right?” 

Steve blinked a couple of times, his coughing suddenly ceasing in surprise and recognition of who he was with, as his brain resetting from panic mode. “Loki?” 

Rolling his eyes, Loki bit back, “No, I’m Tony Stark. What do you think?” 

Looking puzzled, and apparently not having heard Loki’s question, Steve asked, “What are you doing here?” 

“Dream of the ice a lot? I suppose Thor would have to have gone and blabbed my true parentage. Though...that’s not the only thing that would have drawn my self here.” He studied Steve, a small, mischievous smile curling the edges of his mouth. “Apparently you yourself, your subconscious, wanted me here. Having troubles getting our little talk from earlier today out of your head, are we?” 

Steve blinked in surprise at Loki’s explanation, then blushed a little at the memory of Beth’s conversation with him, earlier. 

Loki chuckled slightly at Steve’s expression and quickly made a complicated gesture. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I can think of more pleasant places to be.” 

Without further warning the setting completely changed, and Steve found himself seemingly in the middle of conversation, in a new location, no idea how he had arrived or what came before. But, given that it was a dream, with dream-logic (one he wasn’t really in control of, even when it was his own, and especially not now), it all seemed to make perfect sense. 

“...don’t you agree?” Loki asked, as the dream came to focus seemingly in the middle of a conversation. Steve smiled at the pleasant surroundings - the crackling fireplace in front a nice contrast to the cooler touch of Loki’s bare skin on his. The two of them were curled up in a nest of cushions, blankets, and pillows in front of the crackling fire - the only light in the cozy, warm room. 

Steve smiled and let out a happy sigh, “Hmm?” he asked, his hand tracing over the soft material of Loki’s pants-covered legs, sandwiching his between them.  
Chuckling softly, Loki curled up more behind Steve, one arm wrapped around his near-godly bare chest, the other playing with his hair while he nibbled on Steve’s shoulder. “Am I distracting you too much to pay attention?” Loki asked, tone playful as he paused his nibbling long enough to ask. 

“Looks like it, apparently. Mmm...so, what am I supposed to be agreeing to?”

“Oh, just that this is a rather pleasant setting. You and your spangly flannel pants, me in my not spangly…”

“But still flashy in your own way.” Steve muttered, interjecting. 

“...own pair. And only naturally so, of course.” Loki finished. His hands continued to roam freely around on Steve’s skin, slowly progressing their way lower, while his lips and nibbling teeth kept busy on Steve’s neck, shoulders, and earlobes. 

“I suppose…” Steve murmured a while later, acquiescing, as his mind drifted some, enjoying Loki’s hands, looking around through half-lidded eyes. 

As per habit, as he looked around he found himself studying the surroundings closely, noticing things that had escaped his glance earlier. Especially from the pleasantly distracting god pressed up behind him. 

Loki grasped Steve’s jaw, turning his head to the side in order to take a deep, needy kiss. As Steve closed his eyes and moaned into his mouth, he froze in place as his thoughts finally caught up with him and he realized somethings. 

This was not a place he had ever seen before.  
He had a half-naked god curled around him, with little - cold, ice, water, drowning, PANIC! - knowledge of how he got to this place or state. 

He wasn’t one to forget things. Ever. 

And with those realizations, all of the surroundings - the fire, shadowed walls, pillow nest, everything - shattered like a thin sheet of glass, or ice, he thought, blew away on a cold, arctic wind, along with any semblance of warmth. 

The arctic wind left as quickly as it had arrived, leaving Steve standing in full armour and shield (his first modern redesign, from during the events in New York, he realized). Wary, he took a defensive stance, looking around the nearly-bare, featureless, white endless room. 

Turning around behind him, he saw a pouting, regally slouching Loki, leaning on one arm of a well-worn, deep red leather upholstered armchair. Unlike Captain America’s battle uniform, he wore an unbuttoned black suit and dark green dress shirt, also partially unbuttoned, and gold cufflinks. Loki heaved a sigh and said, once Steve was facing him, “You would break my fun, for lack of control. But yet you don’t wake up yet, like someone normally would. No, you bring us here.” Loki sat up and leaned forward intently, his chin perched on folded hands, elbows propped up on his knees. “Why? Since obviously you finally figured out some control of your dream, what do you want?” 

Answering Loki’s question with another of his own, Captain America replied, “Why my dream, Loki? Why not just leave me in peace?” 

“Why my dear Captain, you called me,” Loki replied with a smile. 

“That’s not an answer, Loki. From what I’ve learned from Thor, you of all people don’t get pulled into dreams without your consent. Heck, you can practically pick and choose where you would want to go. Why. My. Dreams, Loki?” spat out Steve, arms crossed in front of him, behind the shield. 

A long drawn out silence was the reply, Loki’s posture turning wooden, his expression closing down. Finally he murmured, “I don’t know,” his voice small and barely audible, even to Steve’s senses. Steve just stood there, blinking and staring at Loki, stunned at what he heard. As the silence continued to lengthen, Loki broke, grabbed the roots of his hair in frustration and screamed at Steve, “I don’t know!” 

Throwing himself out of his chair, Loki restlessly paced back and forth, his normal kept composure boiled over in frustration and self-rage. More normal in volume now, he spat out words, explaining things more to himself than to the audience of one, lashing out as he paced. “I wasn’t supposed to be you, it wasn’t supposed to be anyone. No Other, no Thanos, no Odin, no shining, golden Thor… Stability, couldn’t stay, had to leave, had to go, somewhere safe, anything safe. Ice is safe - run to the ice, no it’s not - that’s where the monsters live, I’m a monster, got to freeze him out, get rid of the hooks, they can’t sink into the ice, I’m not going to join the ice...Get out!” Loki screamed into the empty room, his pacing stopped and his chest heaving, gasping for air. 

Steve, shocked as he watched the private display, quietly strapped the shield to his back and watched Loki, carefully. Towards the end of his ranting Loki had turned away from him, no longer paying him any attention. As it seemed to come to a close, Steve couldn’t help his concern for someone obviously in that much pain, even if it was Loki. And given some of what he had heard from Thor before, he couldn’t say he was completely surprised at some of what he heard. 

He approached Loki carefully, gingerly, wanting to soothe but also mindful of the powerful being in front of him. Even if it was a dream, somehow this seemed more real than a lot of what had happened, lately. He touched Loki’s shoulder and jerked back as the sheer cold startled him, realizing too late that hoarfrost now lightly coated Loki’s suit-jacket. 

A single, heartbreaking sob ripped itself from Loki’s throat, and he turned around slowly to face Steve. “Even you must think I’m a monster,” said Loki, a pained look in his red eyes, a broken, anguished expression on his blue, textured face. Steve sucked in a breath in surprise before he could stop himself, to which Loki huffed out a dejected, broken laugh. “See, I knew it. I’ll just leave now,” Loki said as he turned back away, ready to walk out of the dream room. 

“No. Stay,” replied Steve as he placed a hand back on Loki’s shoulder, firmly but gently keeping him from retreating further, and turning him back to face him. “You,” Steve said, running a hand along Loki’s cold, textured jaw once he was looking back towards him, “are no more monster than any of the rest of us Avengers.” Gesturing at Loki’s body, he continued, “At least not for this. Now hush,” commanded Steve, as he pulled Loki’s head towards his and kissed him, firmly, on the lips. 

Breaking free, Loki sputtered, “But...why?...How can…? What are...? I don’t…” for once at a loss for words, brain struggling to catch up. 

Steve gave a kind smile towards Loki, not letting go of his hand for fear he’d attempt to flee again, and patiently waited for Loki to finish a question. “Pick one?” he suggested, mildly. 

Taking a slow, deep breath to center himself, Loki asked, “How can you touch me, like this, and not get burned?” 

“My dream, remember? My rules,” Steve replied, a grin on his face. “I do learn quickly, when given the opportunity.” 

“Apparently,” mused Loki, eyeing Captain America shrewdly. “I don’t horrify you, like this?” 

Cap shook his head, “I gladly work with Fury’s little ‘band of misfits’, remember? While possibly a little surprising at first, this isn’t horrifying. Heck, you could fit right in, either color scheme - the offer still stands, remember?” His gaze turned distant briefly, as he struggled to dredge up a memory, “Plus I seem to recall this look of yours having some rather useful abilities - that wasn’t just dream-space, was it - when you saved me from the ice?” 

Loki automatically blurted out, ‘I didn’t…” but was stilled by the kind, knowing, smile on Steve’s face. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Okay, you are just as infuriatingly golden at times, as my brother, you know that?” 

“Ahh, but at least as Tony loves to point out, I’m more perceptive and less stubborn than he is. Something about not having had centuries of bad habits ingrained in me, yet.” Steve pointed out, chuckling. 

“True,” conceded Loki, reluctantly. 

“And you’re avoiding the issue. Again,” pointed out Steve, wagging his finger at Loki with a mock-scolding look on his face. “I remember this nightmare ending much different than they usually do - with you showing up and saving me.” Steve paused, pondering a bit more, “And then you took us somewhere cozy. That was..rather nice, actually,” he finished, with a blush. 

~~tbc...perhaps~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill for prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/11264.html?thread=25823744#t25823744
> 
> Steve takes evening art classes sometimes (possibly without anyone there knowing who he is) and Loki finds out and decides to shapeshift and sneak in as a model for trolling/spying purposes, but he finds he actually really enjoys it. Maybe he hits on Steve a couple times in different forms, but whatever, he kinda ends up with a crush on Steve. 
> 
> And then somehow it comes out to light, and smut happens (but not without Steve knowing who Loki is, please).


	2. Coffee--Not So Good for the Soul (Tony/Demon OMC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a demon is convinced Tony's his long waited for mate, Tony doesn't have much say about it and is quickly ensnared. And changed. Because obviously, a demon's mate couldn't stay _human_ , could he? 
> 
> Tony/Demon OMC, eventually quite dark and graphic. Only posting the intro chapter here for this one, even though more's been written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this one gets quite graphic and more than a bit squiky. Which is why I'm only posting the lead-in chapter here, even though I've got the whole thing (all 10k-ish words worth) in rough draft form at this point. This one's one of the more likely ones to get polished and posted, but I'm having a difficult time keeping enough brain to successfully edit smut. Go figure. 
> 
> So call this chapter more of a teaser/preview than anything else. 
> 
> Eventually all sorts of tags and warnings will be on this one, but as posted not many yet. I'll still put some of them here. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Mind control, unwilling transformation, rape (not what's posted yet), drug use, non-con, dub-con

Tony's fever dreams had been getting increasingly worse all week. He'd wake in the middle of the night, sweat drenched and overheated, restless and skin crawling. Craving…something, but he didn't know what—nothing he tried sated the pervasive _need_. He'd stumble out of bed and into the bathroom and take long, frigid showers, drinking straight from the shower-head. However, this only temporarily cooled him down, barely making him comfortable enough to fall fitfully back to sleep, only to wake an hour or two later. And it was getting worse day by day. By the end of the week even this wasn't quite enough. His arms had red welts where he'd scratched them repeatedly—both while awake and asleep—trying to soothe the crawling sensation prickling just under his skin. 

Finally after nearly a week of this he got fed up and abandoned any semblance of even attempting sleep for the night. Instead, he’d partake in his one guilty pleasure of the day: going to the neighborhood coffee shop where the barista there had that special touch, the only thing that seemed to soothe the ache, the need. He'd discovered the cafe a few weeks ago, along with his now-favorite barista who always seemed to be working shift whenever he'd stop by. The coffee shop itself was unassuming and unpretentious, but something about the place still called to him, intermingled with the siren's song of smells from the brewing beans and caramelized sugar drifting out the door. It was typically pleasantly busy in there, but never so swamped that he couldn't find a cozy table to curl up with his coffee drink in a quiet corner, where people pretty much left him alone—a luxury he appreciated as much as the beverages themselves. He was certain that people knew who he was—who didn't after all—but they either just didn't care or figured he was like them: a guy out, trying to get a decent cup of coffee, looking for some peace in an otherwise chaotic world. 

The primary barista himself, at least the one who worked the early-to-mid-morning shift when Tony typically showed up, was of a rather eclectic sort. Looking to be somewhere in that ambiguous mid-twenties to mid-thirties age range and a few inches taller than Tony himself, his sense of style was growing on Tony. He tended to dress in some blend of Victorian-punky-goth, all dark reds and purples accenting charcoals and blacks with the occasional cream or ivory as contrast. His shoulder length hair had chunky grouped bangs obscuring part of his face, and was mostly black in color fading towards a dark blood red in the last couple inches or so. The smattering of piercings Tony saw only added to the look, rather than detracted. His only concession for his work was the black servers' apron he wore, but even that was edged in subtle black lace and clearly of custom make, not run-of-the-mill restaurant garb. 

"Tony, good to see you again, as always," purred the barista, a huge smile breaking out on his face as Tony reached the front of the line. "Here’s your usual, just how you like it," he said, just finishing up with drawing a fancy foam design on the top: a dragon, this time. 

Tony smiled in return and clutched the coffee cup like the lifeline it was. "I don't think I've seen you repeat a design yet, Tan." He sipped it gratefully, sighing in pleasure and relief as the warmth and flavors started working their magic to calm his nerves. "Thanks again, I swear you've spoiled me on anyone else's coffee." 

Tan chuckled lightly in reply, "Well, I appreciate it. Special touch, and all." Seeing Tony's mouth opening to ask him an obvious question, "No, I won't tell you my secret, at least not now. Maybe some other time, some other setting," he said with a flirty wink. “Can’t have you going somewhere else and abandoning me, can I?” 

Feeling his neck and face warm up (since when had he been the type to blush, Tony wondered to himself), his lips turned up in a small smile and said, "Another time, perhaps." Then he made his way to his usual table. 

After he'd been there a little bit (enough time for Tony to be two-thirds through the large cup while drinking at a pace to savor the drink), Tan excused himself on break and settled himself down at Tony's table. He brought over a pair of mugs and set one of them down in front of himself, and the other in front of Tony. "Hey, Tony, mind if I join you for a little bit? Also, try this one out, on the house. It's a new drink I'm experimenting with, wanted you to try, see what you think." 

"Sure, sit right down, especially since you're bringing bribery," Tony said with a grin. "I'm sure if it's anything like your usual it'll be good. Tell me your secret?" Tony asked, turning on the begging puppy-dog eyes. 

Tan chuckled and shook his head, "No, you're still not getting that out of me." His face growing more serious he asked, "But more seriously, how are you feeling, Tony? You're looking a bit unwell." 

Not letting go of his drink at all, like the lifeline it was, Tony sighed and tipped his head back against the back of the chair and rubbed at the back of his neck. "That obvious, huh?" 

"Well, to me at least. To someone who doesn't know you at all, maybe not as obvious. But spill, you're not hiding it from me," said Tan, tapping a manicured black fingernail against his mug. 

In between finishing his original drink, and getting well into the second, ("Mmm, this is good, whatever it is. And here I thought I didn't like non-coffee drinks, let alone with cream—I think you've made me into a convert. Or at least a convert towards whatever you make.") Tony was frank with his feelings and lack of sleep and general sense of unease. Tan sat there, ever the attentive listener, occasionally taking sips from his own mug. Part of Tony was surprised at how open and honest he was being—him, honest, since when?—but it just felt _right_ , like something he was supposed to be doing. 

"I think you should take it easy today, Tony. Stay at home, see if you can't get some rest," said Tan. 

"Okay," replied Tony, drawing the word out into multiple long syllables. "If you think so. But what about the others, won't they miss me?" 

Tan looked Tony directly in the eyes and shook his head slightly, "They can do without you for a little while, you need to rest, recover. You can't do anyone any good like this." 

"Need to rest," Tony echoed, softly. 

"That's right, very good Tony." Tan reached for Tony's hand and helped him out of the chair. "Very good. I'll see you soon, right Tony?" 

"Yes, soon, good, sleep," murmured Tony as he wandered out of the cafe and back to his place, still clutching the drink in his hand. 

Smiling to himself, his piercing, smoldering gaze followed Tony out the door. Tan said softly, too soft for anyone else to hear, "Very soon, my mate, soon. Rest well, you'll need it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I mentioned, the full first draft of this one's done. Just needs heavy editing. Luv & comments may help. :)
> 
> ***
> 
> Another prompt fic:   
> http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/20763.html?thread=52078107#t52078107
> 
> (non-con, dub-con) A demon slowly transforms Tony into a demon as it rapes him
> 
> Unbeknownst to Tony, he is being watched by a supernatural creature, or maybe he unknowingly brings it home. Either way, when everyone's asleep, the demon sneaks into Tony's room and has its way with him. Long hard love-making that Tony's never experience before, and he struggles against it. But the demon doesn't let him go. He keeps the rape going and as he does so, Tony is gradually turning into a demon himself, with some physical supernatural traits. As he slowly loses his humanity, he finds himself caught between being disgusted and frightened and finding the whole thing pleasurable.  
> The demon has bonded Tony to him for eternity and Tony is both enamored as well as horrified. But after the bonding/mating, Tony's body is bonded to this creature and there's nothing he can do about it when the demon comes calling again except accept and not let the other Avengers know a thing about it.
> 
> Bonus:  
> Psychic connection between Tony and this demon.  
> Emphasis on Tony losing his humanity as he shifts during the mating  
> One of the Avengers catching a glimpse of some demonic trait he's been given.


	3. Tony Stark is the Author's punching bag (Tony/Alien others), OVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's again my depraved side using Tony Stark as a proverbial punching bag. Aliens take Tony when he's in the void and use him for their breeding purposes. Oviposition fic, with the team trying to support him as he figures out what in the hells is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/tags include: Oviposition, non-con, object (egg) insertion, aliens experimenting on humans, mpreg, medical squik

_The void of space and the strange geometry of the place, the nuke heading for the armada, and catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye as he remembers losing consciousness, the feeling of something catching him, grasping him, as he begins to fall in an area with no gravity._

Tony’s eyes snap open as he awakes in a cold sweat, the feeling of—hands, something cool, dry, somewhat scratchy—touching his skin still a ghost of a sensation lingering with the afterimage of the reoccurring nightmare itself. Letting out a quiet sigh, he carefully rolls out of bed so as to not disturb Pepper, and with the aid of the faint floor light Jarvis turns on for him, made his way to the kitchen, as was his late night, post-nightmare habit of late. He groaned and doubled over in pain as his stomach cramped up fiercely—hunger?—and then subsided enough after a bit for him to walk the last little bit into the kitchen. 

Tony downed a pint glass of water in two stages, barely pausing to breathe between them, then refilled the glass to drink again, this time a bit less desperately, the gritty, parched feeling starting to subside. His immediate thirst slackened somewhat, he grabbed the open jar of kosher dill pickles from the fridge and started munching on them as he wandered down to the lab, tucking a box of saltines under his arm, to take with him as well. From experience these past couple of weeks, he wasn’t able to stomach much else this soon after waking, but not eating anything was even worse. 

“More nightmares, sir?” Jarvis asked, as Tony entered the lab. 

“You know it.” 

“Anything new that you recall, this time? I detected that you were in REM sleep an additional ten minutes this time over the average this past week, before you awoke.” 

“Not that I really want to think about, or want to try and recall, J. Space, portal, more of the same.” Tony shivered and rubbed the back of his neck absently. 

“Are you feeling alright, sir? I’ve been moni—” 

“I’m fine, Jarvis!” snapped Tony, interrupting. “Quit mothering me. I said, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

There was a pregnant silence in the air for a while, then Jarvis in a much more neutral tone stated, “The fabrications to the new gauntlet prototype concluded manufacture two hours ago, sir, if you’d like to examine them.” 

“Thanks, J,” said Tony as he took it from U’s carefully outstretched arm, and lost himself in his work. 

*^*^*^*

_Prickle on the back of his neck, sharp burst of pain then blissful numbness chasing it, lassitude suffusing his body. Indistinguishable sounds—voices?—filtered to his ears, but they didn’t matter. Movement elsewhere near him, can’t discern more than that._

_Where was his armor? What armor? Why should he even be clothed? Why does that even matter?_

_Warmth filling him, cooing noises, more pleasure, this felt good, don’t stop, what was happening anyway? Cool softness embracing him, touching him, encasing his limbs (Panic! Can’t move! Peace, calm, reassurance.), cradling his neck, his head, enveloping his genitals, massaging him. Warm pulsing inside, glowing from somewhere near his lower torso but can’t move to look and don’t care enough to try. Waves of pleasure, in time with the pulsing, the glowing._

_Forget_

Slowly awaking from deep, pleasant sleep, his hand resting on his stomach, Tony relished the echos of pleasure ghosting through his body, a remnant of whatever dreams he was having apparently. He reached down to grasp his dick and try and prolong the feelings, but it was quickly obvious that that wasn’t going to go anywhere. Eyes finally opening up he noticed that for once he was alone in the bed. The windows gradually lightened in tint to his increasingly awake state, and he can saw the sun shining outside, well past dawn. “Jarvis, time?” he mumbles, finally awake enough to be somewhat intelligible. 

“It is currently 9:23am, sir. I took the liberty of letting you sleep in, as you had no pressing engagements already scheduled, and this was the first time in twenty-three days that you’ve had uninterrupted sleep.” 

“Huh,” said Tony. He fumbled for the glass of water on his nightstand near the bed, and managed to grasp it without knocking it over, barely spilling any as he sipped it gingerly, his stomach queasy for some reason. In fact he had barely consumed half the glass before a wave of nausea sent him scrambling to the bathroom where he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet-bowl. Once that was done, he felt remarkably better though. “Ugh, what did I eat last night?” Tony muttered, slumped against the wall, sitting on the tile floor. 

“Feeling better, sir?” 

Tony stood, rinsed his mouth with water and spat, and pondered the question. “Yeah, actually. That was odd,” he said. 

“Pleased to hear it,” Jarvis replied. “Assuming you have any appetite, Mr. Barton asked me to inform you upon waking, that he is making pancakes and that if you, quote ‘Want any before Captain Hollow-Leg eats them all, to get your scrawny ass down here’ end-quote,” said Jarvis in a wry tone. 

Tony’s stomach gurgled and twinged with hunger pains, all signs of nausea strangely gone. More awake now (at least well enough to remain upright and mostly keep his balance while moving in a mostly straight line forward), he threw on a warm robe and slippers, and headed to the elevator. “Oh good, food, I’m famished. Let Cupid know I’ll be down there shortly, and to save me a stack of the blueberry ones—a large stack.” 

“Of course, sir,” came the reply. 

*^*^*^*

As was his usual morning-with-no-appointments habit (and sometimes even when he did have appointments) Tony wandered down to the lab, pleasantly full with breakfast. In the lab, Jarvis asked, “Sir, are you feeling well?” 

“Yeah, fine, why’s that? Just a little stuffed, I think I ate enough to give Thor a run for his money.” 

“Indeed, sir. Just that I’ve been monitoring your health and hoping I could do a couple of test—” 

“No! No tests, I said I’m _fine_ , Jarvis,” snapped Tony in reply. “Ugh, just, just leave me alone. I need to get this project done for Pep.” 

“Very well, sir.” 

*^*^*^*

“Dr. Banner?” Jarvis said, when Bruce was alone in his private Avenger tower labs one afternoon a few months after the incident in New York. 

Pushing himself away from the microscope and the slide he was studying, Bruce blinked, refocusing, and replied, “Yeah, Jarvis? Is it dinner time already?” 

“Not for a few more hours yet, Doctor,” said Jarvis. 

Bruce waited a few moments, expecting more information, but not receiving any he probed, “So, you had a question for me then?” 

“Ah, yes. I was hoping to get your opinion on something,” replied Jarvis, and did he actually sound sheepish? In any case this was the first time Bruce could recall this meek tone coming from the normally wry, unflappable AI. Bruce was beginning to get concerned, and he took a few deep, calming breaths by habit. 

“Go on…” prompted Bruce. 

“I… I can’t,” said Jarvis. 

Bruce peered at the ceiling, puzzled, thinking. “You wanted to talk to me about something, but you can’t ask me directly,” he summarized. 

“I did want to talk to you about something, yes,” said Jarvis in reply. 

Bruce took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “It’s something with Tony, isn’t it.” 

Silence, was the answer.

“I’m going to take that for a yes, then,” said Bruce. “Stop me if I’m wrong. You’re worried about Tony about something, and he’s forbidden you to talk about it with anyone. Probably including him, I’m guessing.” 

More silence. 

“Right. So, you can’t tell me about it, hmm,” Bruce murmured and nibbled on the end of one of his glasses ear wires, thinking. “Jarvis, is there something you’d like to show me, instead?” 

“I’m so glad you asked, Dr. Banner,” said Jarvis. “I’ll pull up that data on the John Doe that you requested for you at the terminal. Don’t worry, I’ve saved the data you’re working on, I just took the liberty of minimizing it out of the way for now.” Bruce saw the screen nearest him light up with new data and information, and he wheeled over to take a look. 

“‘John Doe’, sure. Because we have no idea who this might actually be,” said Bruce as he began to look through the data. “Probably just some miscellaneous case study, right?” 

“Of course not, Doctor. Purely hypothetical data, as you say,” said Jarvis, a mix of relief and amusement tinging his voice. “Unfortunately, being hypothetical there’s a shortage of accurate data, however I’ve provided what little we know of the situation.” 

“Understood, Jarvis. Thanks.” More to himself, Bruce muttered as he scanned through the files. “Abnormal sleeping patterns, possible weight gain, change in eating habits, increased nausea as of late—of course the battle and PTSD could account for some of that, hmm.” More out loud, he said, “Of course you know my knowledge of medicine is somewhat limited.”

“I am aware, Doctor. You were just the closest trusted person at hand, that I felt had appropriate clearance and understanding for this data.” 

Nodding, Bruce replied, “How would you feel about bringing in someone else, from the outside? Perhaps Dr. Cho?” 

“Not yet, though I will continue to attempt to get more data through covert channels. Should you later decide it best to involve her in this case study, I will not interfere. Like you said, PTSD could very well be involved, and I did not want to jump to conclusions.” 

“Thanks, I’ll continue to keep an eye on this as well, in addition to my usual work. And Jarvis?” 

“Yes, Dr. Banner?” 

“SHIELD won’t hear about John Doe, at least not from me. Nor will any of the SI personnel here, in the tower.” 

“Thank you, Doctor, for your assistance and understanding in this matter.” 

Turning back to the screen, Bruce continued to look through the data, running various reports and analysis on the data. “Tony, Tony, Tony,” he muttered. “What have you gotten yourself into.” 

*^*^*^*

The next week at breakfast, Bruce was caught looking a little too long, little too closely at Tony. “Hey, what’cha staring at me for there, Big Green?” 

“Hmm?” Bruce started, blinking to refocus his eyes. “Oh, sorry, just staring at nothing, thinking.” 

“Yeah, well do your thinking drifty-stare at someone else, would you?” 

“Sure, sorry Tony,” Bruce replied. 

As Tony left the room muttering, carrying a large mug of coffee in one hand and a plate of breakfast in the other, Bruce caught Natasha’s eye. She made a meaningful look at Tony, then back to Bruce, quirking an eyebrow. Bruce made a subtle nod and “come with” gesture with his head, she blinking in acknowledgment. Clint, cooking, and Steve, lost in some papers didn’t appear to notice the exchange at all. Bruce said softly to the room as he got up to leave, in the tone of habit, “I’ll be down in my labs if anyone needs me.” 

“Yeah, ok,” Steve replied waving a hand at Bruce, still not looking up. Natasha slipped out silently shortly thereafter. 

*^*^*^*

“Okay, spill, Bruce,” said Natasha as she sauntered into Bruce’s lab. 

“Jarvis, lock down please, no one else to enter including Tony, and block all recordings to my personal retrieval only,” said Bruce. “Add to file code Romeo Whiskey Zulu Foxtrot.” 

“Acknowledged, Doctor.” 

Bruce turned to look at Natasha, leaning back against the workbench. “You first. What have you seen?” 

Natasha pursed her lips in thought, and glanced at the ceiling. “Just between us? No Tony?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt this one came from: 
> 
> http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/20763.html?thread=52077851#t52077851
> 
> non con, Tony becomes oviparous thanks to some alien  
> Tony is captured and fixed so he can be impregnated with some alien life form against his will.   
> He is returned home with little memory of what happened, believing it was snippets of a weird dream.  
> But enough months pass where Tony is experiencing terrible cramps and a bloated tummy. The alien beings return, freeze the other avengers so they can observe Tony laying their eggs for them; painful scary process for poor Tony.


	4. Quantum AntMan (GEN or Hope/Scott)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's super-shrinking of himself in the first movie has repercussions no one would have anticipated, and he finds himself getting somewhat...unstuck in the time dimension. Queue AntMan dealing with his new (and un looked for) quantum affected abilities. 
> 
> This one's actually General audience or Teen rated, unlike the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the nature of this fic, and such, right now it's more a collection of scene vignettes than any cohesive plot. Though it may stay much like that, to emphasize the weird of what's going on (though will likely fill in more, to make more sense once seen as a whole). 
> 
> No real warnings on this one, other than general quantum wackiness.

“Daddy!” 

Scott bolted upright in bed, his daughter’s voice still ringing in his head. Pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes he sighed to himself, “Not again.” The nightmares had been getting progressively worse, and between that and the headaches and everything else, he’d been staying at Dr. Pym’s place while they got this sorted out. 

Giving up on any further sleep for the night, he staggered bleary eyed, downstairs. 

“Rough night, again?” asked Janet. 

“Yeah, more nightmares,” he replied, his brain on auto-pilot, while he shuffled into the living room. His eyes were focused on the ground in front of him, trying to not run into something. 

He stopped cold, mid-step, as his brain caught up to speed and registered no one else was in the room with him. “Janet?” he asked, softly, looking around, however only silence met his inquiry. 

“I’m going crazy—,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. Pulling aside the curtains, he peered out the front window—Hope’s car wasn’t there, nor was she parked in the garage. Shivering, and not from the cold, he headed to the kitchen to make some tea. Maybe that would help settle his nerves, he thought. 

***

“It’s no problem, sorry to startle—,” Scott said, a half beat before Hank’s housekeeper and day-cook stepped into the kitchen stopped short in surprise. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I didn’t know anyone was up yet.” 

“—you.” Scott finished, his last word concurrent with hers. She stood there, blinking at him, a bewildered look on her face. He began to apologize, “I’m sorry, I don’t—” but didn’t get any further before his vision whited out and he felt his knees giving out from under him. With his last effort of will he grasped for the counter, to keep himself up, but failed. The distant, sound of someone—female, the housekeeper?—shrieking in the background and objects hitting the floor. 

“Hush, rest,” came that original, different female voice that had greeted him when he first came downstairs, and then he was out completely. 

*^*^*

“I can’t do it,” Scott snarled, yanking out the ear-piece and throwing it across the room. 

“Can’t do what?” asked Hope, looking up from her book and frowning slightly at the flying ear-piece. 

“Antony. The others. I can’t— they won’t listen to me anymore.” 

Hope got out of the armchair and went over to stand behind Scott’s, and started rubbing his shoulders. It felt good, and Scott sighed in appreciation, unconsciously leaning into her touch, willing himself to relax. 

The vitriol in his voice decreased somewhat, he explained. “I’ve tried different exercises, even going back to the basics—from training, you know?” She nodded in reply and made attentive sounds but otherwise let him speak. “I start out okay, but before too long the ants lose cohesiveness and just start moving around randomly. Not even their own patterns, either, if left to their own devices. No, it’s more random than that, more chaotic.” 

He sighed, and closed his eyes. After a while he continued, softer now, resigned. “You’re going to have to take over. The Ant-Man gig. Between the blackouts and now this, I think I can’t keep doing this, not with how things are right now.” 

“I know.” She said kindly, in reply. “Wasp—the suit—is ready. Dad and I have been talking. He stepped up the last bits of R&D on the new Wasp suit, and it’s ready to go—” 

“Since last week,” Scott said, somewhat distracted.

“—since… yeah,” she said, a beat behind him, an odd tone to the last word. Her more normal voice back, she continued. “So we’ll miss you out there, but don’t worry, we’ll take care of things while you get this figured out. 

Scott half nodded and looked away in frustration in self-loathing. “Scott,” Hope said sharply, grasping his head and turning it to look directly at her. “Hear me. We’ll get this figured out: Dad, you, and I, and we’ll get you back out there. It’ll be both of us then, working together, like we’ve been wanting. Okay?” 

He nodded slowly, a bit more genuine this time around, “Okay,” he replied, and gave a small, sad smile and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. “Yeah. We can figure this out. Thanks, Hope.” 

She smiled and bent down, kissing his forehead. 

“That’s my girl,” heard Scott, softly. “She’s right, you know.” He was just glad Hope had her eyes closed, so she couldn’t see the flicker of an expression cross his face. 

*^*^*

A slight tug pulled at Scott -- not by anything he could see, but something he could feel, something instinctual. He just knew (don't over think it, just do). He hopped up from the couch and jogged downstairs to the control room, where he found Hank fiddling with the audio/video equipment. 

"Oh, Scott, hi. We were just--" Hank started as Scott shoved past him and leaned forward, opening up the mic line. 

"Stop!" Scott blurted into the microphone without preamble. "It's a trap!" 

"What? How? We were just about to head in." came Hope's reply over the line. "Scott, what's going on?" 

"Wasp. It's a trap, don't go in there, call it off," Scott said in a more normal volume, now that he appeared to have Hope's attention. 

After a pause she said, "Okay Scott." And then Hank and Scott heard her say over the general com line this time, "Hey guys, hold up! Don't go in ye--," where she was then cut off by a large explosion. 

"Hope!" Scott exclaimed over the microphone, and this time Hank shoved him out of the way. 

"Wasp. Report, now," said Hank, turning professional and taking over the coms. 

After more sounds of debris falling and general mayhem her mic crackled to life. "Wasp here," cough, "I'm fine," she replied. 

"Oh thank Christ," exclaimed Scott, falling back into the nearest chair. 

"The others, Wasp?" Hank inquired. 

"Avengers, report," they heard Captain America call out on the general line. 

"Wasp here, and pretty much fine," Hope replied. 

"Falcon here, and wow is that a mess down there. Thanks for the warning, Wasp." 

"Cut the chatter," Steve said, cutting in. "And yes, thanks. We're going to talk about this in debrief, though." 

"Yes, sir," replied Wasp. As the other Avengers chimed in their status -- mostly ok, some scratches and bruises from surprise debris, but all in all ok but the targets missing -- Wasp went back on her private line. "Thanks, Scott. Cap's going to want to know how I knew, what do I tell him?" 

"Things didn't feel right, there was a gut feeling," Scott replied. 

"O-kay," Hope said, stretching the word out to several syllables. "Your feeling or mine?" 

"Scott's," Hank said, jumping in, with a pointed look at Scott. "He's already currently grounded, no reason to get both of you taken out of commission right now. Plus, it's true. Just tell them that the data didn't look right on our end, something appeared fishy, too easy." 

"Sounds good, Dad, thanks. And Scott?" 

"Hmm?" 

"We'll talk, when I get home," Hope said. 

"Yes ma'am," said Scott, with a sigh. Yet more crap to work through, before he can get back out there. Great, just great. 

*^*^*

Possibilities. 

Paths, opportunities and failures, pain and success, all that and more. 

They danced in front of his eyes, no not eyes he knew, not exactly, but -- 

"Visual representation tends to assist at first," came Janet's voice from just behind him. Scott didn't bother turning around, he already knew somehow that he wouldn't actually see her there. Better to just sense her presence, and listen to her voice -- the more important qualities he needed right now, anyway. 

"Infinite possibilities?" Scott asked. 

"No, not quite infinite. Close enough for all intents and purposes, though, if you look far enough out. The closer in to the current time track though, the more concrete things want to be. Inertia of fate, if you will," said Janet. 

"But still changeable," said Scott, not really asking, more clarifying and stating for the record, somehow already knowing the answer. 

"Sure, like any energetic system. Put enough energy -- enough will, or force, or oomph -- into the system and you can jump the the next state, another set of possibilities. Jump out of the current state of inertia, and out of the current fate track." 

"States?" Scott asked. 

"Yeah, quantum states," said Janet. "You remember your quantum mechanics, right? Atoms, and electrons and such, and their energy levels." 

"Yeah, and?" 

"And everything is energy. Matter and energy, which are ultimately the same thing," Janet explained, as Scott slowly nodded. "So, the more likely some alternative track is to happening, or the more minor or distant the distortion, the easier it is to pull off and affect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt this one came from, also from AvengerKink livejournal  
> Physical consequences for Scott Lang
> 
> Scott starts experiencing blackouts, nightmares, lost time, weird perceptual stuff, and the like. Everyone on Team Ant, including Scott, thinks he's going crazy from exposure to the Pym Particles. But Scott has actually been physically / metaphysically affected by visiting the Microverse and returning, and he's still connected there.
> 
> What happens next is up to you! Maybe he can now size-change without the suit. Maybe he dies from horrible cosmic cancer (nooo!).


	5. Harry Potter and the Blackened Denarius (Gen/TBD, Harry & Nicodemus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lily set up her protections for her son knowing she would likely not survive much longer, she pulled from a multitude of contacts and allies, including one Nicodemus Archleone, a little old coin, and the inhabitant within. 
> 
> Even dumped at the Dursleys, Harry ends up a much different person. 
> 
> A crossover/what-if, if Harry was given one of the coins of the order as a babe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings on this one yet, still pretty new in the writing process. Note, this one's probably a bit rougher and I reserve the right to completely overhaul sections and splice things here & there, when and if this should be posted in a more polished form. 
> 
> Possible tags would include creature-inheritance Harry, Nicodemus being his usual self, Dresden gets in the way, Manipulative Dumbledore, Dark!Harry, quite possibly Evil!Harry (eventually) 
> 
> Mostly HP verse, knowledge of the Dresden-verse not required (at least not for this initial part), and I'll be playing fast and loose with parts of it as it is. Hadn't decided if they were going to be parallel worlds, or the same world (HP-verse and Dresden-verse).

Lily quickly shut the door of Harry's nursery after she'd frantically run up the stairs and away from the brewing duel downstairs. As much as she cared for and was concerned for her husband's wellbeing and life, at this moment she had more pressing concerns on her mind. She darted over to the crib and set the wide awake and—thankfully—still silent babe down into the crib. Unsheathing the dagger at her hip she pricked her finger and began to draw runes in blood on her son's skin. 

"So you mean to go through with it, then?" asked a deceptively calm and mellow voice off to her left. Not even sparing the speaker a glance she nodded, now humming discordantly and continuing on with her work, now tracing over pre-carved runes in the crib itself with her still bloody finger. The speaker sighed and stepped over to the crib and leaned over the railing to peer inside. "Can't say I understand this whole self-sacrificing play. But then again that shouldn't have really been a surprise to anyone that knows me." Lily narrowed her gaze at them and gave them a pointed look. "Yes, yes I'll still go through with my part as we discussed. Sheesh. I wouldn't back out on you now, you know that." Their expression softened and they traced a finger down her cheek with care. "I will miss you though, you know. Such a waste." 

Lily gave them a soft smile in reply. "I know. And thank you, for what it's worth." There was a loud crash downstairs, then the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps making their way up the stairs. Lily grimaced. "Out of time," she murmured. She looked pointedly at the darkest shadow in the room, in the corner facing the comfortable padded rocking chair she used to nurse and sing little Harry to sleep in the evenings. "Make sure your partner is reminded of our agreement. I'm holding him to it, even in my passing. You tell him this." Nothing explicitly happened in reply but one still got the feeling that she was heard anyway. She turned to look at the original speaker in the room, and gave them a sad but fond smile. "As for you, it's time to go. And thanks…take care of him for me?" 

"Of course. For you, and him? It would be my pleasure," they said with a jaunty little finger wave but sadness in their eyes, then soundlessly disappeared. 

Lily took an old coin and gave it to Harry, curling his tiny fingers around it. "This is for you, sweetheart. Take care of it, and it'll take care of you. I love you." And with that she touched her finger to the bloody mark on his forehead, pushing a bit of her magic into it, and the whole array flared with light then disappeared from sight. Not a moment too soon, either, since just then the door blasted in off its hinges and the Dark Lord strode in, wand at the ready. 

"Stand aside, foolish woman." 

…

And you know how the rest of that encounter went, leaving poor Harry without the two people that were his world. Leaving him on the doorstep in the middle of a cold November night with only a letter, basket, and a blanket. Or so anyone thought. Despite being given a coin as obvious to anyone who, if they were in the room at the time would have seen the exchange as clear as day, no one ever saw anything out of the ordinary or even noticed any coin at all. 

*^*

Boy was cold. Granted he was cold most the time these days, especially while in his drafty little cupboard but tonight in particular, was worse than usual. He sat there shivering in the dark, his threadbare blanket wrapped tightly around him, his thin and overly large clothing not providing much insulation either from the cold drafts that crept under the cupboard door and through the little air vent near the top. Thankfully the dark itself was comforting as usual, however the cold was bordering on unbearable, even if tonight it seemed the darkness itself was trying to assist him as much as possible.

As he sat there shivering, the tendrils of darkness reached out and touched his forehead—not the scar he had there—but a much more subtle mark directly in the middle of his forehead which others didn't seem to notice. (Sometimes he recalled fragments from his dreams the morning after, and in some of those there was a lovely woman with red hair tracing something on his forehead in that exact same location. He wondered then, that if he could see the dream from a different perspective if the design she drew was the same as what he saw there. He suspected that was likely the case, though trying to reason what exactly she was doing baffled him.) 

As the tendril of darkness touched him it activated something inside his head, or inside of himself, he wasn't quite sure. Either way he suddenly knew that he didn't feel cold anymore, and not just physically. His desire for warmth, for _comfort_ , was somehow answered. The sensation of reassurance, of not quite love necessarily, (Harry could hardly remember what that felt like anymore, it was at best a fleeting memory like his dreams of the red haired woman), but more a sense of comfort-support-kindness-protection. 

Accompanied by the feelings of reassurance and so forth he felt himself enveloped in a soft black covering that didn't really have any specific shape or form that he could see—then again it was dark so he only caught the barest glimmer of anything through the thin shaft of light entering through his cupboard's vent. What he could see, though, was blackness so dark it actually seemed to absorb any light that hit it, and it was more through the absence of being able to see it that he could see it. However, his other senses were much more acute in what they could pick up, especially his sense of _other_ that didn't fit the typical five labels, and therefore he'd not wanted to think about too much before. But right now it was gleefully screaming at him, to pay attention and that something special was right _there_. 

Accompanied by the physical sensations of being enrobed in warmth and material, was a sensation of reassurance that went beyond normal tangibility. As his blackness enveloped him he heard an echo of a lullaby in his head—he could tell somehow that it wasn't actually out loud so he wasn't afraid of the Dursley's hearing—however he could easily pick it up and found it comforting, more so than anything else he'd experienced in a good long while. Intertwined with that lullaby he heard a barest hint of a voice speak quietly in the back of his mind, "Hush little one go to sleep you're safe," repeated over and over, slowly and methodically. Part of him wasn't quite sure what exactly he was hearing or where it was coming from, but figured that he would think about it the next morning. Right now all he knew that he was, for the moment, at peace and felt the best he had in a long while, so taking advantage of the temporary break in the stresses of his life he quickly drifted off to sleep.

***

When Boy woke the next morning, even though his aunt's wake-up call was as loud, jarring, and early as ever, he felt the most well rested he had in a long while. He remembered dreaming of lullabies and comforting inky blackness. As he was contorting himself to pull on his overly baggy outfit for the day, he looked down and noticed there were 1" wide black cuffs on his wrists and ankles that he could have sworn weren't there before. "Huh," he muttered to himself, rather curious as to what they were, where they came from, and even what they were made of. He picked at the edge of one wrist cuff with his fingernail, but couldn't get any purchase at all underneath it. The lightly textured material had a slight sheen to it but wouldn't be considered 'shiny' at all, and had a subtle pattern to its texture that reminded him of some cross between scales, leather, and rubber. Whatever the flexible, slightly warmer than skin temperature material was, it appeared to be affixed snug to his skin, no gapping at all that he could pry under. He did feel the edge where the cuff was and wasn't, but only barely and if he paid close attention. At the same time while snug, they were comfortably so and not constricting at all. He could flex bend his wrists and ankles just fine, no pinching to speak of. In fact, instead of feeling binding, such as when his aunt or uncle grabbed onto his wrist to drag him somewhere, these felt…comforting. He blinked at the echo of the feeling from the previous night, which was similar but more encompassing. Still, he certainly didn't mind the bands, and found them reassuring of a sort. Part of his brain worried what would happen when his relatives noticed them, since while his ankles were covered by his clothing entirely his wrist ones kept peaking out as he moved his arms, the sleeves mostly covering his arms but not entirely, not to mention he tended to push up his sleeves often when he worked, depending on what chores he was working on. However for some reason he wasn't too concerned, even though they were almost the definition of "not normal". That day he kept a wary eye on how his relatives reacted to his appearance and them specifically, not acting any different in his daily activities but hyper-vigilant all the same. Strangely enough (and he was inwardly very happy about this), they didn't say a peep about them. For that matter, even though Aunt Petunia had opportunities to clearly see them on more than one occasion as he was cooking breakfast and washing the dishes, she didn't even seem to notice anything was different. And of course Boy wasn't going to say anything to call attention to them, he wasn't stupid. He was, however, grateful that they seemed to either be unnoticeable or invisible to others, he wasn't sure the specifics and wasn't sure how he'd test out the specifics of that, even if he wanted to—which right now he didn't. He was just glad they weren't going to get him into further trouble, at least not for the foreseeable future, assuming their nature held true with regard to others. 

***

"Little one, are you sure you should be out here all by yourself? And in this heat, too?" 

Harry startled at the voice—a nice pleasant baritone—and chanced a glance up from his gardening work. As the stranger had said, he was pretty certain he was alone, so at least for the moment talking was safer than other times, as long as he kept working. "You shouldn't talk to me, sir. Uncle Vernon wouldn't like that if he found out." And then quieter, "and freaks like me don't deserve kind attention from nice people like you." Though the odd thing was he seemed, no… _felt_ almost familiar, like he'd met him before. But that was impossible, he'd remember a nice looking gentleman like him, Harry was certain of it. 

The stranger hrmph'd and Harry heard the rustle of fabric as he crossed his arms. "Well, that's just ridiculous. I can jolly well talk to you if I damn well like, and your fat oaf of an uncle or slip of an aunt can't tell me otherwise. 'Sides, not like he'll know any better. I certainly won't tell him, will you?" Harry frantically shook his head to the negative. "Well then, that's settled." 

Harry didn't see where the stool the stranger now perched himself on had come from, so he just assumed that he'd had it folded up and carried with him for whatever reason, though that did seem a bit strange. Either way he didn't feel too comfortable thinking about that right at the moment and instead took the spare glances he allowed himself as he worked to study the stranger himself, who just casually sat there in the one little spot of shade he somehow found out in the hot sun. He was dressed fancier than he'd ever seen his relatives dress up, except for perhaps their Christmas and Easter Sunday best. However even then Harry could tell that his clothes were of a finer quality than theirs ever were, not to mention they fit him a whole lot better. What's more, he looked _comfortable_ in them, like he was used to wearing tailored lightweight wool trousers, fine linen button up shirts and matching lightweight wool waistcoats every day, regardless of what was going on. And maybe he was—who was Harry to know otherwise. 

Finally he realized he had been staring and flushed, quickly turning his attention back to the weeding. The gentleman, for that's what he must have been, with clothes like that, just chuckled lightly in reply. "No worries, little one. I'm flattered, really. And where's my manners? You can call me Nicodemus." 

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Nicodemus," Harry said softly, not looking up. 

"Just Nicodemus, no Mr. required, please. Or I'll even allow Nick if you rather, for a special child like you. And what do I have the pleasure of calling you, young one?" 

"Um I don't know," Harry muttered out in a very tiny voice, while staring at the ground and tracing his fingers through the dirt. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a prompt fic! Heh. This is also the one that's currently been tickling my brain, but a lot of it's still either a) pretty rough or b) up in the air as to where it might actually be going. Let me know what you think!
> 
> That's the last of them for this year's blurb, love to hear from you re: any/all of these. Thanks!


End file.
